Rock Salt Collective, a community of artists and creatives connected to the Rock, have been exploring some of the parables Jesus told. We started with some stories that Jesus told when he was being criticised by the religious leaders for hanging out with the "bad guys" too much. Jesus tells three stories about how precious lost things which are lost are. The most well known of these three stories is the story often known as "The Prodigal Son."
It's a story of a son who has left home, shunned his father and then needs to return. In it Jesus is describing the heart of God. A love so deep that he doesn't care what mess people have got into but celebrates when His lost child comes home.
Here's the second part of a two part poem trying to capture the events from the son hitting rock bottom, sitting in pig swill wondering if he could beg his father to let him be a servant at his house, to the moment where his father embraces him, not as servant but with the joy of a father who loves his son no matter what.
HOME [Part Two]
Leave behind the cesspit, left restless and desperate, long walk home to address this.
Plainly unfit, transgressed, now a misfit, but pressed by the distress, return and confess it,
Confronted by the bittersweet, defeat in my deceit, mistreated him, virtually deleted him.
Heartbeat runs like an athlete, throw myself at his feet, confess I’m left incomplete in sin,
Beg his better nature, face what I must incur, soul in tatters, spirit in downbeat talespin
But in all these matters, hope that won’t shatter. There exists a concrete goodness in him,
And therein, lies a glimmer, that he might allow me a place, as a slave, saved by grace.
Work all my days, showcase my regret, pay back my debt, return respect, erase my disgrace
And if he says "no" and continues my curse, I’ll be no better off but at the same time no worse.
Floodwaters crash over me, fully immersed, inscribe my tombstone and summon the hearse.
Eyes, on the horizon, tears blur my focus, but even in that, locus is clear, the site I was born
Breath drawn for too long, gasp for air that is gone, my footsteps too heavy to carry on,
The thinnest of hopes was a mirage, my oasis was wrong, ability to walk is sabotaged,
Darkness fills the world like a day with no dawn, this shipwreck battered by the barrage,
Of all that I have done, transgressions, in slow motion, watching them one by one,
My failures as his son, like wax I melt, a desire to be anyone else. And then I’m undone
For on this homeward path, I see the dust clouds rise. My father flies, tears of joy fill his eyes.
My head now bowed, chest buckled under sobs aloud, collapse to knees, repentant cries,
And bereft of time, prepare my speech, a call for rest, of servanthood and all confessed.
But, in his form, no anger now professed, just wild eyes and love abounds in puffing chest.
This figure falls on mine, words unjust, there’s no digust, he holds me there within the dust,
Clutched in arms, crushed in hugs, tender words brush my soul, my heart now hushed.
“You are an answer to my pleas. My son’s return, a prayer like mustard seed was sown,
End to all my fevered groans,” then heady shouts to servants, “Ready now a kingly throne,
Prepare a feast, and get my robe, today rejoice, the prince of death is overthrown,
Let it be known, my son was dead, now he’s alive, my son was was lost and now is home”
This blog post was brought to you by....Oli Higham
Oli Higham is part of the leadership team at the Rock Community Church. He finds it hard to sum himself up in a few sentences. However he loves Jesus and is also rather fond of his family, films, coffee, rugby, Arsenal FC, poetry, spray paint, beards, cooking and laughing.